Due Process
by screaming-poetically
Summary: “I’m afraid I have to place you under arrest, Ms. Monroe.” FL.


**Title:** Due Process  
**Summary:** "I'm afraid I have to place you under arrest, Ms. Monroe." FL.  
**Disclaimer:** The names of all characters contained herein are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
**A/N:** Prepare for some cuff!porn. This is to make up for my last fic, "Crash," which apparently made several people cry (including myself.)  
**Rating:** T

**Due Process**

"_Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within."  
-James Baldwin_

Lindsay peered into the microscope at the slide beneath; it appeared that the fibres were a match. This would be a huge breakthrough in the case. She was about to lift her head, about to reach for her cellphone to call Mac, when hands covered her own on the lab table. She felt someone nuzzling her neck; a soft whisper of, "I missed you this morning" and a kiss pressed soft and lingering against her skin made her soul go weak and her sense of professional propriety dissolve.

"Don, what if somebody sees?" she asked, leaning back into him.

He moved his hands from hers upward along her arms until they finally found a resting place on her shoulders. His front was lightly pressed to her back.

"Do you really care?"

She shifted in his arms until she was facing him; her hazel eyes met his own blue ones, eyes that held so much—forgive the cliché, but there was a lot behind those blue eyes—and she sighed. Lindsay reached up and covered one of Flack's hands with her own.

"The walls are made out of glass, Don."

He grinned deviously and pressed himself closer to her; Flack leaned forward so that his head was bent over hers and his lips were close to her ear. He slipped one arm around her delicate waist and stroked her side with his fingers.

"Maybe you should come home early, then, so we don't have to worry about no glass walls."

Lindsay let out a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding and nodded weakly.

Flack gently kissed her forehead before he slid caressingly to hover above her lips.

"I love you," he said.

Then he pressed a soft and gentle kiss to her lips, and walked out of the Trace lab. After a moment Lindsay regained her senses and reached for her cellphone. She knew she had to reach Mac and update him about the case, and she knew she had to call Stella and tell her that she had to go home early. She was suddenly feeling very ill. Maybe Lindsay had caught the little stomach flu that was going around.

After she reached Mac—"Good job, Lindsay. We're closing in on the killer."—she called Stella. Lindsay did, of course, feel bad about lying to Stella. She was her best friend in New York, the first person she had really gotten close to. But this was an emergency. It wasn't like she could just tell Stella that she had a Code 69, wicked horny boyfriend. Nah, she couldn't. That was just crossing the line. So she told Stella that she had the stomach flu and that she had thrown up two times, which Lindsay figured was okay, and the way Stella told her to go home—"Hope you feel better, Lindsay. Tell Flack I said hi, and make sure he takes good care of you."—made Lindsay feel just a little bit worse.

But she knew Don was going to take _very_ good care of her when she got to their apartment.

As soon as Lindsay entered the apartment she felt strong arms surround her, pin her to the now-closed door. Flack's mouth found hers desperately, his body pressed tight against hers. Her lips parted soft and pliant beneath his and his tongue explored her mouth—he wasn't surprised to find that Lindsay tasted like raspberries, she loved them—and he groaned as her own tongue met his in earnest.

They parted reluctantly (the need for oxygen was pressing) and she shifted against him, purposely rolling her hips against his own.

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he released her from where their hands had become entwined, pressed above Lindsay's head against the door. It was then she noticed that while Flack had removed his sidearm, his still bore his badge and handcuffs.

She rested her hand on the waistline of his pants, just above his badge.

"Any special reason, Detective?" Lindsay asked, eyebrows arched and lips curved in a subtle smile.

"As a matter of fact, there is. I thought it would be prudent to wear it under the circumstances."

"Oh?"

"I'm afraid I have to place you under arrest, Ms. Monroe," he said, face passive but eyes full of suggestive content.

"On what grounds?" she asked, curious now. They had never played this game before.

"Seducing a fellow officer."

Lindsay let out a soft gasp as Flack leaned in, bracing his arms on the door. She let her head fall to his shoulder. He leaned in close, whispered softly, "I might have to restrain you. Obtain a search warrant. That sort of thing."

Lindsay was pressed up against him, face buried in the groove between Flack's neck and his shoulder; when she pressed a kiss to his bare skin, he moaned quietly and she said, "Are you going to violate my rights, Detective?"

Flack steered them towards the bedroom amidst open-mouthed kisses and clothes being thrown off; when he saw Lindsay laying out on the bed before him, her hands very much occupied with the handcuffs that were now restraining them, he thought that she was a work of art. He was caught between remembering everything that had gotten him this far and losing all coherent thought, because who can remember anything at all when they're like this—tongue and hips and _ohgodsogood_—and Flack can only mumble nonsensical phrases into Lindsay's mouth until he stops thinking altogether.

After a moment he broke away, but only to say a few words before resuming.

"Violate your rights, Monroe? Of course I am. Every last one."

_finis._


End file.
